A door to familiar desolation
Mike McGill is in some deep shit at the moment.
It really shouldn't be such a surprise to him. He is a shit magnet after all; none of these jobs ever end well, no matter how trivial the case seemed at the start. It doesn't help that the client was a nut case in the first place.
Speaking of which...
"PUT THE GUN DOWN!" the little boy shouts at him. Mike's hands go up in the air, but he still holds the gun. The tailor in the corner whimpers as the pale kid levels a gun of his own at Mike's face.
"I knew you wouldn't be much help, Mr. McGill," the boy says, shaking his head. "But you will not interfere with the mission. Mr. Newton will not be deterred."
Mike almost sighs. He would have if he didn't think it would get him shot. But the idea that this kid is carrying around the soul of Huey P. Newton is ridiculous, and of course he would be in a position where he would have to submit to the kid at least a little bit to get him to calm down. "Listen," he says slowly, his hands still up in the air though he has no intention of dropping the gun. "I can still help you. You hired me for a reason."
"Shut up!" the boy screams in a way that sends shivers down Mike's back. Psycho kid. He hopes that when he gets the chance to subdue him, he can get in a good accidental punch. If he ever gets that far.
"Listen to me! I brought you to the guy you said," Mike continues. "I can help you get what you want still, no extra charge, okay?" He begins to move closer toward the tailor, who squeaks and squirms but can't bring himself to move.
"No!" The boy aims the gun at Mike's face, his pale face glistening, and it's like everything slips into slow motion. Mike can only watch as the boy's finger squeezes the trigger, and he closes his eyes. He's going to die. He always knew this job was going to be the death of him, and now...
There's no shot, or at least Mike doesn't hear it. He keeps his eyes screwed up tight just in case. He doesn't intend to watch himself die today.
Someone in the basement of the Conrad will probably find him standing in the Rift room, his eyes shut as tightly as he can close them, his hands curled up into fists while he waits to die.
It really shouldn't be such a surprise to him. He is a shit magnet after all; none of these jobs ever end well, no matter how trivial the case seemed at the start. It doesn't help that the client was a nut case in the first place.
Speaking of which...
"PUT THE GUN DOWN!" the little boy shouts at him. Mike's hands go up in the air, but he still holds the gun. The tailor in the corner whimpers as the pale kid levels a gun of his own at Mike's face.
"I knew you wouldn't be much help, Mr. McGill," the boy says, shaking his head. "But you will not interfere with the mission. Mr. Newton will not be deterred."
Mike almost sighs. He would have if he didn't think it would get him shot. But the idea that this kid is carrying around the soul of Huey P. Newton is ridiculous, and of course he would be in a position where he would have to submit to the kid at least a little bit to get him to calm down. "Listen," he says slowly, his hands still up in the air though he has no intention of dropping the gun. "I can still help you. You hired me for a reason."
"Shut up!" the boy screams in a way that sends shivers down Mike's back. Psycho kid. He hopes that when he gets the chance to subdue him, he can get in a good accidental punch. If he ever gets that far.
"Listen to me! I brought you to the guy you said," Mike continues. "I can help you get what you want still, no extra charge, okay?" He begins to move closer toward the tailor, who squeaks and squirms but can't bring himself to move.
"No!" The boy aims the gun at Mike's face, his pale face glistening, and it's like everything slips into slow motion. Mike can only watch as the boy's finger squeezes the trigger, and he closes his eyes. He's going to die. He always knew this job was going to be the death of him, and now...
There's no shot, or at least Mike doesn't hear it. He keeps his eyes screwed up tight just in case. He doesn't intend to watch himself die today.
Someone in the basement of the Conrad will probably find him standing in the Rift room, his eyes shut as tightly as he can close them, his hands curled up into fists while he waits to die.